


Waterfalls

by Corinne K (Corinne_K)



Series: Waterfalls [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 00:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18680008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinne_K/pseuds/Corinne%20K
Summary: Haruka's life is stirred once more by the hand of a wilful redhead. Past and present intertwine as they dissect and evolve their lifelong connection.(or how Rin Matsuoka woos the love of his life by roping him in to a ridiculous number of DIY projects)Companion piece to An Evening Before Autumn Comes, told from Haruka's point of view.





	Waterfalls

**Author's Note:**

> This covers the same time span as An Evening Before Autumn Comes. It can be read as a stand alone, but I tried to make them complementary, not overlapping, so that they can be enjoyed together :)

You are in the middle of baking English muffins when someone knocks on your door. You finish flipping them over one by one and set the timer for another ten minutes. You entertain the hope that, by the time you reach the front door, whoever it was will be gone.

You open the door and your eyes land on Rin Matsuoka. You take in his appearance. It has been a few years since you last saw him for some team Japan reunion event. The swimmer build is still there, in the robust arms and thin waist. Hair has grown longer and the rich burgundy has opened into something more hybrid, but still unfairly pretty. Clothes are more casual than the stylish stuff he used to wear. You chuckle when you spot the beaten up Birkenstocks on his feet.

You don’t bother to act friendly.

“What are you doing here?”

“I kind of moved back to Japan so I thought I’d-“

Neck scratch, crooked grin. Wouldn’t he have grown out of this routine by now? It’s cute when you’re eleven. Seventeen at most. Maybe it’s still cute, you ponder.

“Come in.”

“I was wondering how you’re doing. It’s been a while and we never really got into the long distance communication thing, I guess it’s just how it is...” he rambles.

You notice his fidgeting - with the leather band around his wrist, with something inside his pocket, with his hair. It’s unnerving. You wish he’d knock it off.

“Help me with the sauce.”

“Huh?”

You move to the kitchen without looking back. He follows.

“I’m making Eggs Benedict. You can whisk the sauce while I poach the eggs.”

“What makes you think I can make hollandaise? And why are you eating breakfast at 6pm?”

“I eat what I want and any idiot can mix stuff in a bowl.”

He gives you a fond smile.

“I missed you, you know?”

You didn’t think he’d verbalize that. You measure the ingredients and pass him the bowl and whisk. He gets to it dutifully, but with an excess of energy, and splashes of molten butter start shooting in all directions as he whisks.

You don’t ask about his wife and kids, but you can tell something is different from the last times you met. He eventually tells you that he’s been around Iwatobi for a while now, and that he’s here alone. You frown when he says he bought a house along the coast and has been working on it by himself. He makes it sound like an idle hobby. You don’t buy it.

Later, after he’s gone, you call Makoto. Your best friend confirms the story. You are still not convinced, but when Rin knocks on your door the very next day, you let him in again.

This time around, he wants to go buy tropical fishes for an aquarium. You bring him to the shop and he falls in love with a dark blue beta with a flowing tail and a cool attitude. You tell him that it’s a fighting fish and won’t get along with any other fish he buys, but he ignores you and picks a handful of guppies from another tank. You sigh and help him chose some aquatic plants. Later on you will go to the beach to look for pebbles, he says. He includes you in these plans without your consent. You snort but let him lead you on. You know it’s a road to disaster. _Just like college_.

After both expeditions - to the shop and to the beach - he absolutely insists on cooking you dinner at his place. You arrive at the small yet strangely spacious house perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The lines are clean and modern, in neutral tones, the lighting and the nordic wood providing touches of warmth. He expects you to say something as you stand in the genkan. Silky red forelocks pour out of the loose man bun he likes to wear these days. His eyes shine. You say-

“It’s a nice place. It suits you.”

The smile widens. Who knew crow’s feet could be so alluring?

“I know, right?”

The place is still pretty much empty, safe for some second hand furniture and appliances.

“Are you planning to fix these?”

You run your hand over the back of a horseshoe chair. One leg is wobbly and the seat is partially broken.

“Yeah, I…” he rubs his neck. “I’ll figure something out.”

“I can help.”

His eyes say _Haru, you are a godsend_ , but his mouth says “if you don’t mind… yeah, that’d be nice.”

And so you come back a day later to help with the chairs. You bring your toolbox and some materials you grabbed off the hardware shop and he looks at you in awe. For the whole afternoon, as you teach him how to sand the wood, as you carefully apply glue to the loose parts and then press them together, as you measure the missing bits, you feel his eyes bathing you in something warm, like a newfound admiration. It’s all too familiar. You eat the tasty fresh squid he cooks for dinner and go home feeling uneasy.

In a bout of claustrophobia you go outside and sit on the stone steps. You intend to just stargaze for a while. You end up texting Makoto. Five minutes later your friend is plopping down next to you, wrapped in an oversized fluffy cardigan. You suddenly shudder from head to foot.

“When will you start dressing for the season, Haru?” Makoto sighs and stretches one side of the cardigan so that you can wiggle one arm into the sleeve. You curl up like when you were kids, knees pressed together between your arms.

“It’s just like college,” you say.

“Haru…”

“It’s happening again. I feel stupid.”

“It’s not your fault if he keeps egging you on.”

“Well, he’s married, there’s not much room for misunderstanding.”

Makoto doesn’t answer. You think that your friend might be biting back something like _you don’t know that_ or _things change_ , but you know he doesn’t want to give you false hopes.

“Do you remember, Makoto? His wedding. The whole of Japan stopped. I couldn’t turn on the TV or even look at newspaper stands. His face was everywhere, next to that fucking gaijin.”

“Haru!”

“I know, I know. I’m petty. Don’t think I can change that anymore, sorry.”

Makoto sighs and wiggles his arm around you, pulls you closer. You let yourself be held for a while, then you slowly remove your arm from the sleeve and bid Makoto goodnight. He waves and gives you a sad little smile. You know your close friends had been rooting for you and Rin at some point. During college, when Rin was constantly hopping between Sydney and Tokyo, despite the distance, you  grew closer than what may be called friendship. You kept an almost telepathic closeness during his absences and when you were physically together there was a sense of something imminent, a bubble waiting to be popped. Until all was taken away, with a casual introduction ("Haru, meet Emma. Emma, this is Haru").

You refuse to believe it was all inside your head.

_Was it all inside your head?_

* * *

 

You stop visiting him for a while. You have agreed to help him with the antique Tibetan cabinet that he bought for a small fortune, but you don’t find it in you to keep the promise. _Bric à brac_ is a dilettante’s past time, anyway. Doesn’t suit him at all.

He gives you a few days of peace before he’s back at your door, sporting his silly toothy grin.

“What’s all that?” You ask as you point at the bag hanging from his shoulder.

“Cabbage... and a few other stuff. You know kimchi is packed full of good bacteria for your gut? Not to mention that it’s delicious, but I might be partial on that...”

“I’m not following.”

“Kimchi! Let’s make kimchi together!”

You sigh and let him in. Making the concoction takes you the whole day, not to mention that you have to let it ferment for three more. Rin shows up by your door every morning thereafter, bearing a different outrageous idea each time. One day, he makes you cook _saba_ shepherds pie, a private joke you’d rather forget. Next, he drags you into town to look for fabrics for a sofa cover.On the third day, after you’ve opened and tried the kimchi, he hands you a small sachet with a photo of a red haired woman and some Arabic script. You know what it is for and you hesitate.

At this point, you don’t know where it will lead and it scares you. He begs, he says he’d have asked Gou but she’s always so busy. You brace yourself andhave him sit on the porch while you take a bowl and mix the powder with water. He came prepared with some old towels and a shower cap. He sits stock still and you finally start parting his hair and lathering it with the earthy mixture. You twist it in a bun and snap the shower cap on top, then wrap a towel around it, for good measure. The conversation flows while you are killing time. It’s easy and makes you forget about what you still have to do. When the hour of wait elapses, you bring him to the bathroom to wash his hair. The newly enhanced locks are glossy and fall heavy through your fingers as you brush them. You have to stop and take a breath. You find yourself trembling. _Why is this happening again?_

That night, Makoto offers you the same silent consolation, as you sit on the stone steps.

“What do you want, Haru?”

“I want him to leave me alone.”

It’s not a lie. It’s too late for anything that might replace the comfort of your solitude. You realise that you suffer more than bask in Rin’s radiance day in and day out. Some days, you find yourself longing for the moment when he will say his goodnights and head out the door, rolling his car keys around his index. It’s always then that your gaze is drawn to his hands, and the gold band nestled within them. Sometimes, he notices the line of your eyes, and has the gall of looking away.

* * *

 

 

And then, with a storm, everything changes. You are both sitting on the porch at your place when rain and thunder start to rage. He seems hesitant about driving back home and complains about the road along the coast. Waves and winds and low visibility. The scenario runs through your head and the sheer possibility of something happening to him overrides the pain of what you are about to propose.

“Stay the night.”

He thanks you and accepts the offer. 

You bring him to your room and go in search of spare bedding - for yourself, you are letting him have the bed.

“Do you still sleep with waterfalls?" he asks. The tone is teasing but the question twists something deep inside your gut. "Do they keep you warm at night?”

You are standing by the door, a folded futon balanced on your upper body. Your arms unwind. It drops heavy to the floor. He gasps. Your eyes meet. For a moment there's an understanding that flashes between you. He looks away and around the room like he’s seeing it for the first time. You don’t know what to make of it. What did he see? What is he thinking? It was a mistake, letting him come this close. You are about to panic and run out to the rain when he steps forward, towards you. You search for his eyes again. You find a sorrow that you've felt lurking there for all these days you spent together. He brings his hands to your shoulders and, slowly, gingerly, slides them down to your waist. He comes a notch closer, angles his head just right, and, for once, you decide to let things burn. If this is the thing that will make him go away for good, then be it. You kiss him - brief and dry, expecting nothing in return.

“Haruka,” he whispers, nuzzles your temple, then kisses you back.

When it stops, there are no words, you are both too worked up to talk. You end up sitting on the futon side by side. You pull out the few volumes of Waterfall Weekly that remain under your bed.  He browses the old dusty magazines and you watch him. He looks serious and focused, but you are feeling light, lighter than you've felt in years. He opens a centrefold photo of the Iguaçu falls, and you swoon. He gives you a look, you stifle a laugh, he swats your head.

“Weirdo.”

With that, the tension seems to dissipate. He folds the magazine and yawns.

“Guess we should call it a night, huh?”

“Hmm.”

You turn off the lamp and all that’s left is the intermittent glare of lightning in the distance. You can see him smile in the dark. He leans in, tentative, and gives you a goodnight kiss, before he climbs onto your bed and drifts off.

* * *

  

You start visiting his place again. You work on the Tibetan cabinet. When you are almost done with it, he shows you a box of porcelain cups and pots that he bought from a charity shop.

“Haru, do you know how to do the gold plastering thing?”

He’s doing it on purpose.

“Yes,” you reply. You’ve learned kintsugi a few years back, another way to kill your time.

You come back a few days later to start the new project. In the late afternoon, after you’ve finished repairing one of the ceremonial tea bowls, you wander to the bathroom to wash the resin off your hands. You hear his voice coming from somewhere inside the house. You let curiosity guide you to his bedroom door. You never dwelled inside, just passed by when he gave you the tour. You see him through the half open glass door that leads to the balcony. He’s leaning against the railing, facing the ocean, his phone pressed to his face. The words become clearer as you draw closer, stealthily, back pressed against the wall.

“... well there’s the Sydney house, the two cars and the bonds... yes, I understand that, Sousuke, but this place is _mine_ -”

The tone is rising. Rin’s free hand clasps the rail and then slaps it hard.

“Yes, I will talk to her. I already told you, I don’t give a shit about anything else, as long as the kids have their share and I can keep this house... yes, I like the place but that’s not the point...”

He lays his hand back on the rail, a semblance of calm. His eyes reach for the blue infinity.

“I want to live up my days in this house, with him.”

Rin leaves for Australia a few days later. He doesn’t mention the conversation with Yamazaki, he doesn’t make any promises, but the way he kisses you goodbye fills you with hope and wonder, feelings so misplaced in the wasteland of your heart.

By the time he returns, you’ve fixed all the broken China, painted it in streaks of gold. You hear the door unlocking when you’re arranging the pieces in the display cabinet. You feel his presence in the room but he doesn’t say _t_ _adaima_ or _hello_ or _I’m here_. He just stands there in silence. You take a breath and turn around. He smiles, eyes misty and tired, drops his bag to the floor. You take a step, he mirrors you, you walk steadily, with purpose, he meets you in the middle of the sunlit room. His head falls on your shoulder. You think of asking how it went, what about the kids, his things, the house, you and him, but you don’t, you just hold him, tight and fond. He says-

“It’s ok. Everything is ok.”

And it is, but it takes time. He’s in and out of Japan throughout the remainder of the year. He brings the kids home for new year. Neither bats and eye when he interlaces his fingers with yours at the dinner table, but the following days flesh out reality - the boy is mostly indifferent, immersed in his own world, and the girl is taking up her mother’s pains, acting cordial and cold, spending most of the time on her phone.

They leave after the holidays and Rin with them. You go back to your routine and try not to think. As the first sakura start to bloom, shy and pale, with the early spring sun, he returns. He asks you to meet at the park where your old elementary school used to be. He shows you the paper. You barely register the seals and the names and the English terms. You figure that it’s done. He gets on one knee.

You say yes.

There’s not much discussion about the how. You pick a date and reserve the shrine. On his insistence, you visit different tailors, so you think he’s expecting some kind of surprise. You pick royal blue for your wedding hakama. You know he will match it somehow.

One night, lying in bed, legs tangled under the sheets, moonlight and the rumbling of waves, he says-

“Nothing needs to change, you know. Just this, it’s alright - it’s-“

You shift sideways, you want to see the face he’s making. There’s a crease between his brows.

“...I’ve had my days, and we’re getting old, so this is enough, it truly is.”

But you don’t want to be anything other than everything to him, now that you have the chance.

You lift your upper body and lay a hand on his collarbone. He turns to face you and your lips connect. You stay there languidly brushing your lips against his, nipping, moving your tongue around the inside of his mouth. Your hand travels lower.

 _And now Rin? Is this enough? How long until you beg for more?_ He pants softly and pushes you away, his eyes boring holes into your own. Then suddenly he dives in and kisses you, grinds into you. _Rin and his bullshit._ You push each other through a slow satisfying build up, and climax cradled in each other’s arms. This is how it will be. You will be his everything and more, because that’s what he is to you.

* * *

 

“Hurry up Haru! At this rate Rin is going to eat and digest his nails before you get the change to marry!”

Makoto is comically flustered, looming by your bedroom door, as you comb your hair back and adjust the tie of your _haori_.

“Is he wearing red?”

“Y-yes, I guess. Or burgundy maybe. Why does it matter Haru? We’re late!”

“Good.” You say. “Let’s go, Makoto.”

You walk down the stairs and through the hall towards the front door, where the others are waiting. Nagisa cries when he sees you, and Rei places a hand on his shoulder - “ _yoshi yoshi,_ Nagisa kun”. The four of you take to the steps, together, like in the old days.

When you reach the top, you take in the small gathering. In the crowd, you find the few foreign faces that you’ve been dreading. You know their names by now: Emma, Arisa Sophie, Aiden Ryoma. Alien lives from another world, the threads of their existence now interlaced with yours. There's also a number of more familiar faces. They eye you with varying degrees of fondness: Gou, Miyako, a bunch of Mikoshibas of different ages, Nitori, Yamazaki.

Amid them all is Rin. Bright as the setting sun, smiling through tears, clasping his ceremonial fan like a lifeline. You try to smile back but it comes out strained. This is truly a sight you never thought you’d see.

Later that night, as you lie tangled once more, this time with a sense of togetherness and mutual devotion that still has you both electric, your mind floats around the times of joy and the times of woe, the old and the new days, and the question sneaks out of your mouth-

“Rin… back in college-“

You pause. Visions of races, of success and failure, the enclosure of your old Tokyo apartment and the expanse of the world. He rotates his gaze to you.

“-did you ever feel anything for me?”

“I did,” he admits, “but I didn’t know what to call it. Back then, love for me was...” he trails off, draws a big balloon in the air as though the gesture could explain thirty years of not having this, of not having _you_.

“Cherry blossoms,” you suggest.

He hums.

“What is love to you now, Rin?”

For the umpteenth time that day he starts to cry. You are secretly glad he hasn’t outgrown that part of him. He curls up against your side. You brush your thumb from the corner of his eye down to his cheek.

His lips trace the silent word-

“Waterfalls”

 

 


End file.
